


Spring

by Camelittle



Series: Convalescence [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Frustration, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 11:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3567953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur's physical recovery is plodding along, but the mental and emotional scars will take longer to heal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spring

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "Spring" square on my [Merlin Writers Quickie Bingo](http://merlin-writers.livejournal.com/161477.html) card. Rated teen and up for liberal use of profanities.

The evening sun slanted through the open window onto the daffodils on his bedside table, making them glow pale gold. The door creaked open, the rattle of crockery on the tray heralding the arrival of dinner.

“This bed is horrible,” said Arthur, frowning at Merlin as he deposited the tray by his side, and wincing at the sudden pain that jarred his arm and leg as he tried to sit up. “I hate it.”

“Here. Move forward a bit.” Merlin fumbled with the pillows and then let him sink gratefully back into them.

“That’s no better,” said Arthur. The fresh, cool bed linen against his back felt heavenly, but couldn’t fix the horrible ball of anger that burned at him. His arms and legs were screaming from days of inactivity, and yet if he even moved just a little bit, sharp needles drove through his injured side, reminding him to stay put. He wanted to hit someone. “My bum hurts. There’s something sticking into it.”

“Now, now,” said Merlin, as if talking to a small child. “We are feeling a bit fussy today, aren’t we?”

“Don’t fucking patronise me, Merlin,” said Arthur. The ugly knot inside him began to unclench and grow into something vicious and spiteful.  “Need I remind you who’s paying your wages? When I say my arse hurts, you bloody well kiss it better.”

Flushing, Merlin pursed his lips together then as if biting back words, and Arthur felt a fleeting stab of triumph. So the paragon of nursing perfection was human, after all.

“It must be a bedspring or something, you incompetent idiot,” he added, willing Merlin to say something inappropriate. “It’s your fault. Get me out of this bed, and remake it.”

“What?” Merlin’s face clouded. “I only made it this morning. And I'm far from incompet--”

“Well you must have fucking well done it wrong then,” roared Arthur, clenching his good arm into a fist and bashing it hard down on the mattress. The movement made spasms of agony shoot through his arm, leg, and chest, but it felt good to let out all the pent up frustration and anger at his current predicament. “Bloody well make it again.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and let out a sharp exhale, as if it was the very limit, dealing with Arthur.

How dare he? How dare he, with his functioning limbs and his too-bright smile and his rumpled-looking hair and his bloody cheekbones? Cheekbones for Christ’s sake! Bloody rude, that’s what it was, and it made dark, mad things bubble up in Arthur, nasty venomous things that he had to let out.  

“Don’t bloody roll your eyes at me, you insubordinate wretch,” yelled Arthur. “Get me out of this fucking bed!” With a wild flail of his good hand, he dashed the vase of daffodils across the room where it smashed, tinkling forlornly, shards spilling light across the room in tiny jagged flashes. “Fuck!” Morgana had sent him those daffodils, and it was her favourite vase. She was going to kill him, and he’d deserve it. His display of petulance would cost him dear. “Fuck.”

Merlin just stood there, understanding and compassion creeping across his face, and it was more than Arthur could bear. Of course, Merlin wouldn’t say something stupid and inappropriate just because his arse of an employer was trying to goad him. Merlin was a professional. There’s no way that Merlin, with his warm eyes and his clever hands and his plump, velvet-dark, sumptuous lips would be here, pandering to the whims of a washed-up cripple like Arthur, if he wasn’t being paid. Who would?

“Fucking hell.” Suddenly deflated by the forlorn sight of the abandoned daffodils in a slowly widening pool of water, Arthur could feel tears start in his eyes, and he covered them as best he could with one hand. “Get out. Just get out.”

Merlin didn’t. Instead, he came across to the bed and placed a warm hand on Arthur’s good arm. Feeling its comforting heat seeping through his thin pyjamas, Arthur had to bury a sudden urge to reach out, bury his head in the soft-looking spot between Merlin’s angular chin and his bony shoulder, and sob like a baby.

“Arthur.”

“Fuck off. Get out of here.”

“Arthur, it’s all right to let go.”

“I said get out!” He could feel his chest begin to rise and fall ever faster as if responding to Merlin’s command. His sense of panic rose at the thought of being seen like this, prey to the emotions that coursed through him like a wildfire.

But the warm spot on his arm didn’t move. Arthur was grateful for it through the humiliation and pain that followed while his chest heaved, his treacherous body shook and his mind replayed all his regrets.

“Hey,” said Merlin, gently, when it was all over, “want to freshen up?”

He brought a soft, warm cloth, then turned his back to afford Arthur some privacy while he cleaned his face and settled his breathing.

The flowers went into a plastic water beaker, and there were fewer than before, but they still glowed in the dying rays of the sun.

“Why didn’t you go?” said Arthur, much later. “I told you to get out, but you stayed. Why?”

Shrugging, Merlin looked up from his book. “I didn’t want you to feel alone,” he said, his eyes looking huge and soft.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: not my characters, I'm not getting paid.


End file.
